All the Single Ladies: A Novel

by Dorothea Benton Frank

  “Honey? I can smell marriage coming along the same way you all smell coffee in the morning.”

  I’ll be damned, I thought.

  After lunch, the rest of the afternoon passed quietly as we continued going through Kathy’s boxes.

  “You know what we need?” Suzanne said.

  “No, what?” I asked.

  “We need a document or something with Kathy’s ex-­husband’s middle name or even an initial. I’ve been all over the Internet and there are literally thousands of David Harpers in the world. We need something to narrow the search.”

  “I still can’t believe she had a husband and never told you,” Carrie said.

  “She never even so much as hinted at it,” Suzanne said.

  “Yeah, it’s a little unbelievable but her silence tells us something about the powerful depth of her pain,” I said.

  “You should’ve been a shrink,” Carrie said.

  “Ha! That’s what they tell me, but I thought I’d make more money as a geriatric nurse! Shows you what I know, doesn’t it?”

  Suzanne left at five, and when Harry Black arrived to pick her up I stayed in the house. His cologne announced his arrival. Besides, I enjoyed a sufficient amount of the pleasure of his company during the week. Cutting back my hours, was he? And was Suzanne so deaf in the nose that she couldn’t smell what he smelled like? Anyway, I wanted the time to figure out my hair and what I was going to wear.

  “I’ve got Miss Trudie duty tonight,” Carrie said, standing in the doorway of my bedroom. “Gee! Don’t you look nice!”

  “You think so? Not too virginal?”

  I was wearing a white linen tunic with rolled sleeves over simple white cotton pants.

  “Ha! Look in the mirror! You’re not a virgin, honey bunny. You’re smokin’ hot!”

  “Who me? You’re nuts.”

  I looked in the full-­length mirror. I saw a middle-­aged woman, tallish, on the lean side, with blond hair blown out straight. My hair just hit my shoulders. All the beach walking had given me something of a suntan, which I’d never had in my whole life.

  “Huh!” I said. “Maybe I don’t look so bad!”

  “Stay right there,” Carrie said.

  A few minutes later she came back with a handful of costume jewelry. “Here. Put this on and let’s see.”

  She handed me a wide, coral-­encrusted silver cuff bracelet with matching earrings and a chain necklace of large silver links.

  “Wow!” I said when I looked in the mirror again.

  “I’ve got the perfect lipstick. Stay put.”

  She dashed out of the room and seconds later she dashed back in.

  “I cleaned it off with alcohol,” she said.

  “You’re so funny,” I said. “I’m not afraid of your cooties!”

  The pale coral lipstick brought my face to life. I was grateful then to my mother for making me wear my retainer every night. At least I had straight teeth.

  “Take it with you,” she said.

  “Thanks! You’ve got my cell number, right?”

  “Yep. Don’t worry. I’d call you right away if anything happens,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep digging.”

  “I’m not really worried about Miss Trudie. But I’m excited that we’re unraveling Kathy’s past, so call me if you find anything.”

  “Promise,” she said.

  Paul was right on time. He practically bounced up the front steps. I opened the door for him.

  “Hey you,” I said.

  “Hey yourself,” he said. “You ready to go?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Where are we headed?”

  “Well, first we’re going to Grill 225 for nitro-­tinis and then we’re heading over to Hall’s for steaks or chops or whatever you want. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds too fabulous! And, um, Paul? What’s a nitro-­tini?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, and opened the passenger door for me.

  Thirty minutes later we were seated on beautiful leather bar stools staring at the massive foggy fumes of a cocktail that came with a warning label taped around the stem of the martini glass. Mine was a chocolate-­themed concoction. His was a cosmo. I loved that he didn’t feel emasculated by a pink drink.

  “Are you sure this is safe to drink?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, and laughed.

  “I’m taking a picture of these babies.” I whipped out my phone as quickly as I could and took pictures of our drinks.

  I’m embarrassed to admit it but my chocolate nitro-­tini slid down the hatch very smoothly.

  “I could drink ten of these,” I said, looking at the bottom of my empty glass.

  “And I’d have to carry you out of here over my shoulder,” Paul said.

  “You’re probably right. My dignity would take a vacation.”

  He laughed. “You’re funny. Do you know that?”

  “Oh, shucks, Paul. You’re making me blush. Anyway, I’m not used to real alcohol but this is delicious! Once again, we’re having dessert first.”

  “I think we always should,” he said. “So, tell me what’s new?”

  “Well, I spoke to my daughter today. That’s my really big news.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  I told him how I decided to impose a moratorium on discussing her business, and that we agreed that we would talk about other things. He said that was brilliant, that the most important thing was that we talked.

  I said, “It’s not like we don’t love each other. We just have a major difference of opinion on a few things.”

  Then out of nowhere, he looked at me with that look. You know the one. It’s the one that says, I’ve been thinking about what you look like naked. I might like to ravish your bones. There was no doubt whatsoever.

  “Holy shit,” I said, without meaning to say it out loud.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, lying.

  “No, come on now. Tell me why you said that.” He was smiling.

  “Okay,” I said, emboldened by a chocolate martini and his gorgeous brown eyes, “you’re thinking about sex. You and me and sex.”

  “What’s the matter with that?” He laughed.

  “I don’t know! Nothing?” I started laughing too.

  I mean we weren’t twenty-­one years old. What were we saving ourselves for?

  “Do you still want dinner?” he said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Sorry. I was just kidding. Let’s get our check.”

  He signaled the bartender, paid the bill, and we left with smirks on our faces.

  There was a pedicab waiting on the curb.

  “Hall’s is pretty far from here,” he said. “Should we ask this young man to haul us over there?”

  “Why not?”

  We climbed in and made the trip over to King Street and he held my hand the entire way.

  “The steak is probably better at Grill 225, but Hall’s has music and I love that,” he said.

  “I love music too.”

  “I miss playing my own piano. These days I don’t have the time. But I played at Kathy’s funeral, remember?”

  “How could I forget that?” I smiled. “That priest was an old poop.”

  “He sure was. I was just playing music Kathy loved. If I’d played ‘Ave Maria’ or something like that, everyone would have been weeping.”

  “I totally agree,” I said.

  We climbed out in front of the restaurant and went inside, excited to see what the rest of the night would bring.

  Chapter 15

  Finders Keepers

  All I’m admitting to is that second martini slowly sipped at Hall’s and a lot of dessert. The rest is nobody’s business but mine and Paul’s. He managed to get me
home before eleven, which was quite a feat because I was very comfortable at his condo. How did it happen? He played “Unforgettable” for me on his piano. Then he played “The Way You Look Tonight.” That was it. The shoes came off and then he peeled away my clothes like the proverbial skins of an onion, taking his sweet time. At one point I was sure I was going to die. But I didn’t.

  I thought I looked pretty innocent when I walked into the kitchen and found Suzanne and Carrie at the table, combing the Internet.

  “Hey! How’re y’all doing?” I said, dropping my handbag on the table. “How was your evening?”

  “Well, we found a man’s monogrammed shoehorn,” Carrie said. “Now we’re looking for a David I. Harper.”

  “That’s great!” I said.

  Suzanne looked up, gave me the once-­over, and commented, “Well, somebody had a big night!”

  She said it like I had sex was written across my forehead in red lipstick.

  “Oh Lord,” I said. “Well, he started it. How could you tell?”

  Carrie looked up and gave me an inspection from head to toe and a large grin grew across her face.

  “Oh, sweetie! Because look how relaxed you are!” she said. “Was it fun?”

  What a question!

  “Oh. Hell. Yeah. It was fun,” I said. “It was unbelievable. How was your date with Harry?”

  “Well, obviously not as exciting as yours, but it was better than our first date,” Suzanne said, and giggled. “We went to see The Giver, which was actually pretty interesting.”

  “Dating’s awkward,” Carrie said. “Suzanne? Download the app and use the questions on him to see if you’re gonna really like him or not. I mean, be honest, you can only hold out for so long.”

  Now there’s an app for the thirty-­six questions? Good grief! There was an app for everything!

  “She’s right about saving it,” I said. “Anyway, use it, girl! It’s perishable!”

  “That’s your medical advice?” Suzanne said, and shook her head.

  “Yep. If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

  We laughed. It was 2014. Of all the possible offenses and perversions that were plastered across television, film, print, and the Internet, the news flash that two middle-­aged adults had consensual sex without the sanctity of a church’s blessing was just about the most boring thing in the world.

  “So, look at this and tell me what you think?” Suzanne handed me the shoehorn.

  I held it to my temple. “I’m getting a male, thinning hair, about six feet tall . . .”

  “Oh, now we’ve got Uri Geller in the house,” Suzanne said, and laughed.

  “Very funny,” Carrie said. “Y’all, there are fifty-­six bazillion men named David I. Harper. We’re gonna need something more than this shoehorn.”

  It was true.

  “You’re right. What’s the latest on the hurricane?” I said.

  A special advisory alert band was running across the bottom of the television screen but the sound was muted. I picked up the remote and restored the volume.

  “Well, there’s something brewing off the west coast of Africa,” Carrie said. “I sure hope it doesn’t ruin our trip to Bermuda.”

  “We just have to keep an eye on it,” Suzanne said.

  “Well, I’m going to turn in,” I said, and remuted the TV. “Maybe I’ll grab a shower.”

  “Take your time,” Carrie said. “I’m still searching for David I. Harper.”

  “Did you narrow your search?” Suzanne said.

  “Yes,” Carrie said, “I’m in Minneapolis and St. Paul and still nothing.”

  “Maybe he moved to Kansas City,” I said over my shoulder. “ ’Night, y’all!”

  In the morning, I shared a good walk on the beach with Carrie and Suzanne. The skies were gray but the beach was quiet. It was the classic calm before the storm. But the prediction for the day was just rain and some wind. It would be a week before anything close to the magnitude of a hurricane could reach our shores.

  On the way to work I called my parents to see how their weekend went.

  “Did the Bertches come over?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, and we had a wonderful time! You father grilled a big fat fish and I made a salad. We just laughed and talked the night away.”

  “That’s great! And I’m staying with some friends on the Isle of Palms until I find something. Remember the young woman I told you about who died? Well, one of her friends is living in a big old beach house with her ninety-­nine-­year-­old grandmother. They said I should stay, so I said okay.”

  “Sounds dull to me.”

  “Well, it’s not. Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think I’ve told you this, but, actually, I’ve been seeing someone.”

  My mother started screaming.

  “What? Alan! Hurry up! Pick up the extension phone! Hurry!”

  “Mom! Stop! Calm down! I’m not getting married or anything like that!”

  “I need water! I’ll be right back!”

  My father picked up the phone.

  “What’s all the excitement about?” he asked.

  “Don’t tell him a thing until I get back!”

  I heard the phone hit the kitchen counter.

  “I guess we can’t talk yet,” I said.

  “Your mother is very bossy.”

  “I heard that, Alan St. Clair! Ooooh! Men. Now, Lisa, tell us everything.”

  I told them what I thought they needed to know.

  “He sounds wonderful,” my mother said.

  “Yeah, I think he is,” I said.

  “I gotta go,” my father said. “Tiger Woods is playing golf. Don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.”

  He hung up. My mother was still on the line.

  “Lisa?”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “I want you to know that I’m one hundred percent on your side with this terrible business about Marianne.”

  “Well, that’s actually the other reason I’m calling you. You know, it has been months since we’ve spoken, and we’re finally in touch with each other again. I talked to her over the weekend.”

  “You did? What does she have to say for herself? I hope you told her that her grandmother is not happy with her.”

  “No, I didn’t. I decided to come at this problem from an entirely different angle.”

  I explained to my mother that I had decided that Marianne’s business wasn’t something I should take personally, that it had nothing to do with me. And that I just wanted us to be talking again. So talking about her business or her father was going to be off-­limits until we could figure out how to discuss those two topics without having a knock-­down, drag-­out war of wills. I told my mother I was sure that in time Marianne would see that this was all wrong.

  “She has always been a wonderful daughter,” I said. “She never gave me a moment of worry. Not one. She’ll come to her senses.”

  My mother was quiet.

  “That’s quite a vote of faith,” she said. “I’m not sure I would be that sanguine about it. If it were you, I’d beat your behind.”

  “She’s an adult, Mom. Can’t do that. Besides, whaling on someone’s backside really never did anyone any good.”

  “You think so? I’ve got a good mind to pack my bags, go to Colorado, and do it myself! You just can’t let her carry on like this. This is the most undignified behavior I’ve ever heard of in my life! She’s working for the cannabis industry, Lisa, whether you like it or not. If my friends found out I can only imagine what they’d say!”

  Mom was irate. And she had learned the term “cannabis.”

  “Well? I guess it comes down to do I want to have a relationship with my only child or do I want to show her who’s the boss?” I said.

  “You an
d your father think you’re so smart. I’ve got a good mind to cut that child out of my will! And I’ll do it too!”

  May I inject just a few words here to say that I was completely surprised to know there was any kind of a provision for my daughter in my mother’s will?

  “Well, go on and do what you have to do, Mom.”

  I heard her gasp.

  “I miss my daughter and I’m not going to fight. I do not approve of what she’s doing, but I have to believe that the values I instilled in her and the culture in which I raised her will prevail over this craziness.”

  “Well, I’m going to call her. This is absurd, Lisa. Decent ­people don’t help tourists do drugs.”

  “It’s a very shady business. I agree. But it’s just not nice to turn your back on someone you love.”

  There was silence.

  “Mom?”

  More silence.

  She had hung up on me. Now that was a first.

  I was at work by then. I spread the visor over my dashboard and got out. The sky was the color of tarnished pewter and growing darker by the minute. We were going to get a helluva soaking before the day was done. Little gusts of wind began kicking out of nowhere, shaking and rustling tree branches, sending leaves and other debris sailing across the parking lot.

  I rushed inside to the nurses’ station and put away my bag. Margaret and Judy were there talking about the hurricane and Labor Day.

  “I guess I’m gonna start shopping this weekend,” Margaret said.

  “G’morning!” I said. “Shopping for what?”

  “Morning,” Judy said. “Margaret’s shooting The Ten Commandments in her house on Labor Day.”

  “Oooh! Can I be in it?” I asked.

  She meant that Margaret was having a Labor Day barbecue of epic proportions.

  “You coming and bringing your cute boyfriend?” Margaret asked.

  “I’m not so sure he’s my boyfriend,” I said. “But I’ll invite him. What day is it?”

  “Labor Day’s still on Monday,” Margaret said. “Isn’t it?”

  “As far as I know,” I said, and smiled. “What are you cooking?”

  “Everything,” Judy said. “I’m making blueberry pies because I’m still dreaming of Maine. But I’m also making peach cobblers and maybe cold fruit tarts.”